


New Togs

by kathkin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen, slight liberties taken with EU canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It struck Polly that it was a bit silly to be mourning somebody else’s ruined shirt. </i> Polly helps Jamie pick out new clothes from the TARDIS wardrobe and gets to know him a little better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Togs

“Would you like me to darn it for you?” Polly turned Jamie’s shirt over in her hands, examining the jagged tear.

“Hardly seems worth it,” said Jamie from the other side of the curtain.

“It’s no trouble, really,” said Polly.

“Och, it’s just a shirt,” said Jamie – which gave Polly pause. It struck her that it was a bit silly to be mourning somebody else’s ruined shirt. But she couldn’t help projecting. She’d packed away the clothes she’d been wearing when she’d walked into the TARDIS ever so carefully, not daring to wear them outside her room in case something happened to them. She’d quite literally walked into this funny new life of hers with nothing but the clothes on her back and she couldn’t bear to lose them. It was difficult to imagine that Jamie might not feel the same way. 

“No. That’s too small.” He passed her a shirt over the curtain. She tossed it onto the growing pile of discarded garments and handed him another one.

“Try that,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Jamie. “Besides, I can darn it meself,” he went on, his voice muffled.

“You can sew?” Polly blinked.

“Well enough to fix that,” said Jamie. “Oh, here we are.”

“Does that fit?”

“I think so,” said Jamie. He came out from behind the curtain, fumbling with his buttons. “How’s that?”

“Very smart,” said Polly. He got his collar fastened and looked at the cuffs, puzzled. 

“How do I –” He struggled with the buttons.

“Oh, here.” Polly took his wrist and fastened his cuffs, one by one. “There.” Jamie inspected his buttoned-up cuffs like they were a fiendish puzzle and tucked his new shirt into his kilt. “We should probably get you some new shoes, while we’re here.”

Jamie looked at his feet. “What’s wrong with these?”

“Just yesterday you said they were leaking!” said Polly.

“So?” Jamie shrugged. “They’ll do for a while longer.”

“Oh – come on.” Polly took him by the elbow and tugged him further into the wardrobe room. “I don’t suppose you know what size you are,” she said dismally as they came upon the racks of shoes. Jamie looked at her blankly. “I didn’t think so.” She selected a pair that looked sturdy and more or less the right size. “Try these.”

Jamie perched on the edge of a nearby chair and stepped out of his ragged shoes.”You’ll be wanting rid of my kilt next.”

“Of course I won’t,” said Polly. “It’s a perfectly nice kilt.” 

“I can dress meself,” said Jamie. “You’re not my ma.”

“I –” Polly’d been going to protest, but he had a point. She really ought to stop mothering him. After all, he was – it struck her that she had no idea how old he was. She’d sort of been assuming he was younger than her, but she wasn’t sure why and it was probably rude to make assumptions like that. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Jamie shook his head and handed her the shoes back. “No. Too small.”

She found a bigger pair. “Can I ask you sort of a personal question?”

“Eh?” said Jamie, working his left foot into a shoe. “Oh, aye.”

“Just how old are you?” said Polly.

“Oh.” Jamie picked up his right shoe. “I was goin’ tae be eighteen in the summer.”

Polly stared at him, struggling to process what he was saying. “You’re _never_ seventeen.”

“I am so!” he protested. 

“But –”

“But what?”

But seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t be on battlefields, she wanted to say. Seventeen-year-old boys ought to be at home, with their families, doing – doing whatever seveneteen-year-olds did in the eighteenth century, she didn’t know. When she was seventeen she’d been going to school and hanging around in coffee shops with her friends and talking about boys, not fighting in rebellions or holding people at knifepoint or getting shipped off to the West Indies to be used as an indentured servant. It wasn’t _fair_. But she couldn’t exactly say all that.

Jamie stood up and took an experimental step in his new shoes – and immediately exclaimed in delight. “Oh, these are great,” he said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. 

“What did I tell you?” said Polly. “Comfortable?”

“They’re springy,” said Jamie, beaming, happier than Polly had ever seen anyone over a new pair of shoes. 

“And watertight,” said Polly. “Alright – now that you’re all togged up, shall we go see if we’ve landed?”


End file.
